Butterfly
by Missie DuCaine
Summary: Indefinitely abandoned. She was only an ordinary girl on an ordinary bus until her world exploded, and her purplehaired angel rescued her.
1. Default Chapter

I don't own DBZ. Honest. Really. I don't own it, and frankly, if I did, I would be a whole lot richer than I'm not. And I wouldn't have to write this stupid disclaimer. 

And, for that matter, no one's paying me to write this. I just am. Don't Sue me - I have nothing. At all.

Megs is not a Mary Sue. At least, she's not suppossed to be. 

  
  


Butterfly

  
  


Megs climbed onto the city bus. No one was quite sure what her whole name was,

she simply was known to everyone as Megs. With her short orange hair and friendly yet

mysterious air, all that knew her were simply willing to let her be the way that she

wanted to be. And everyone knew her. The bus driver nodded at her as she climbed on,

and people in the seats caught her eyes with usually friendly looks. She ignored, as usual,

the glare of the spiky haired man who always sat in the back-he had a perpetual glare,

and she was pretty sure he couldn't manage any other expression.

Settling into her usual seat, she flicked on her discman, the sweet strains of

traditional Egyptian festival music filling her ears. She reached into her backpack,

removing a book about the life of Tutankhamen, and settled into reading. She was so

preoccupied that she didn't notice a freakishly tall man enter the bus. He wore a long gray

trench coat, and settled into an empty seat near the front. He immediately bent and

seemed to be very preoccupied with the bottom of the seat. The other patrons simply

assumed he was a little simple, and politely looked away. At the next stop, he rose and

left, and so Megs never saw him. 

A mere twenty minutes later, after many of the original passengers had gotten off

and many new ones had taken their place, Megs head jerked up. Something was terribly

and horribly wrong. She didn't know why or what, just that something was. She stood to

find out what it was, but she didn't get a chance. Because that was when the world

exploded.

At least, that's what it felt like to her. The seat 3 ahead of her had just erupted in a

ball of flame, the bus had lurched, falling onto its side, and she could feel it skidding

down the hill. She, like all the other passengers, had lost her footing with the falling bus,

and lay now on what had once been her side window. 

Her head was in great pain, and when she reached up to touch it, she found blood

on her hand. Her shirt, her prized 'Treasures of Egypt' shirt, was ripped and torn, singed

from the exploding ball of flames that had engulfed the front half of the bus. All in all, as

her head sank to the floor, sighing in resigned defeat, things didn't look too good. 

And then something moved. Outside of the bus, she felt, then there was a terrific

renting sound, and the bus slowed to a halt. And then the window above her shattered.

Shielding her face with her arms, Megs looked up. A man stood on the side of the bus,

looking down at them. He was shillouetted, brilliant sunlight streaming past him on one

side, raging inferno on the other. Like some creature born of either Heaven or Hell.

With cat-like grace, he jumped down, landing on the balls of his feet,

immediately beside her. Long light-purple hair swirled around his face, and Megs

blinked. "Are you...an angel?" she whispered.

He looked at her, startled. It was as though he hadn't realized she was there

before, but now was intensely interested. "No." He said, crouching to look at her. "I'm

not. Are you hurt?"

Megs tentatively tested muscles. "My head hurts, and I think I twisted an ankle.

What happened?"

He shook his head. "First I have to get everyone out of here. On the count of

three-" He reached under her, and on the count of three, hoisted her up off the ground.

Carefully, he climbed up and onto the seats, then up through the broken window. He

jumped down to the pavement gracefully, then sprinted across the road. Crowds were

gathering, but he ignored them, placing Megs gently on a park bench. "I'll be back," he

said gently, then sprinted back to the bus.

Megs watched with growing admiration as the mysterious man helped everyone

out of the bus. Officials were worried that the gas would explode because of the fire, and

so needed to get the people out as quickly as possible. He was getting them out faster

than any of the rescue workers. 

At last, the last person pulled from the wreckage, he walked purposefully back to

the park bench. Someone had given Megs a check over, and so her head was now neatly

bandaged, and her main concern, other than finding out about her rescuer, was the

problem now of her mostly shredded shirt. She'd managed to maintain her modesty by

snagging a blanket, which she held around herself protectively.

"Hey," he said, interrupting her thoughts, sitting on the bench beside her. "You all

right?"

Megs smiled. "I'm okay, but my shirt's seen better days."

He glanced at her, and she blushed, pulling the blanket tighter. "Here," he smiled,

and with a single smooth motion, pulled his black tanktop over his head, holding it

forward. "I'll hold the blanket. You can cover yourself up."

Megs gaped at his bare chest, incredibly well built, but swallowed, took the

tanktop, and, under the cover of the tent he made with the blanket, changed shirts.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. "Look, I really ought to be going home..."

He smiled graciously. "I'll take you. You look to shaken to walk anyway." 

"What do you-woah!" She gasped as he scooped her back up in his arms, and

headed down the street. "Do you like carrying people or something?"

He just grinned. 

"Look, I'm Megs. You are-"

"Trunks."

"Trunks," she repeated. "Kinda cool. Unique. I like it."

They traveled in relative silence, Megs tired from the ordeal. Her eyelids began to

droop, and soon, she fell asleep, head resting on Trunks' chest. He didn't take her home-

mostly because he had no idea where it was-but went to his own apartment. He set her

gently on the bed, then paused.

In the fading reds of the setting sun, he leaned over, violet hair swirling around

his face, and kissed her forehead, very gently. Like the touch of a butterfly, the gentle

action didn't wake the sleeping girl. Smiling, Trunks turned, and walked out. 

"Sleep tight," he whispered as he left.

"Butterfly."


	2. 2

Once again, I do not own DBZ, and frankly, I never asked to use it. Sorry, but don't sue me.

  
  


Butterfly

  
  


Megs woke slowly, stretching with the sheer relief that comes from a good night's

sleep. Eyes still closed, face burrowed in her pillow, she sighed, hugging the fluffy duvet

to her chest. Warm, and comforting. 

And it didn't smell right. Her room had always smelt like baby powder, but this

room smelled...rugged. Manly. Nice, granted, but not like her room. Her eyes blinked

open, to find herself staring into a deep white pillow. Not purple like hers. She shrugged,

and closed her eyes again. Ah, well. Her mother must have replaced the pillow cover.

That must be why it smelled different too.

Burrowing back under the covers, she buried her head under layers of feather-

filled duvets, wriggling in the delight of being warm and cozy. The sweet smell of bacon

and eggs wafted into the room, and she smiled. Mom was cooking her breakfast. How

nice. Drifting in and out of a comfortable sleep, Megs had to wonder why her alarm

clock hadn't gone off yet. It couldn't possibly be that early anymore, and yet the loud and

incredibly annoying contraption hadn't disturbed her peace. *It's not Saturday*, she

thought, frowning despite her resolve just to enjoy it. *Why hasn't mom woke me up yet,

or something?*

Rolling onto her side, Megs pushed off the blankets, sat up, and opened her eyes. 

They widened considerably. 

"What in the *world*...?!"

This was certainly *not* her room. It was a pleasant room - all done in shades of

blue and white, but it wasn't *hers*. Darting to the door, she flung it open, to find herself

staring out at an apartment that was certainly not her home. And standing at the stove,

flipping the bacon, was a man that was certainly *not* her father. He was taller, for one

thing, and a good deal more muscled, with long purple hair slung back in a low ponytail. 

Her angel, she realized with surprise.

He heard the sound of her closing the door, and turned to look at her. He had

gentle blue eyes, and he smiled slightly. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

Megs stared at him, agape. 

He smiled a little more. "I won't bite."

"I thought you were a dream," Megs confessed, heading into the room slowly. She

was suddenly very aware of the fact that she wore a rumpled pair of jeans, his wrinkled

tanktop, and that her red hair was a royal mess. She was also painfully aware of the fact

that Trunks looked absolutely perfect, from his smooth violet hair to his carefully pressed

pants. He was a good looking guy, wasn't he?

She ducked her head to hide her blush, and sat quickly at the table, letting the

golden morning light pour over her, trying to smooth her hair. 

"I thought you were too," Trunks laughed, bringing two plates over to the table.

"Hungry?"

"Thanks," Megs grinned, and picked up a fork. A black cat curled around her feet,

and she leaned under the table to stroke it's sleek fur. "What's your cat's name?"

"Vegeta," Trunks said, setting down his knife. "Named him after my father."

Megs smiled, and began eating. "Soo....you rescued me out of a flaming bus, and

take me back to your apartment. You do this kind of thing often?"

He laughed. "No. And I *would* have brought you home, but you fell asleep

before I could ask you were home was. So I just brought you here. I hope you don't mind

too much."

"So long as *you* slept in a different bed, no problem." She stabbed her fried egg.

"I guess I should probably be going home, though."

Trunks looked disappointed. "You sure? I mean, I thought, maybe, you'd like to

see my mother, or something. She works at Capsule Corp."

Megs tapped her lip with the end of her fork. "I've heard of that. Might actually be

interesting. What's your mom's name?"

"Bulma. Bulma Briefs."

Meg's eyebrows shot skyward. "Bulma and Trunks *Briefs*?"

"Yeah," he nodded, oblivious to her expression. "And you can meet my sister,

Bra."

"*Bra*?!" Megs exploded in laughter. She quickly grabbed her glass of orange

juice, hiding her mirth behind her glass. "Sorry," She grinned, not looking sorry at all.

"But, *Bra*...."

Trunks grinned, leaned across the table, and patted her hand. "Don't worry. Wait'll

you meet my father. You'll just *love* him."


	3. 3

Ditto on my other disclaimers. 

  
  


Butterfly

  
  


Megs smiled in the mirror. Washed, red hair combed, glasses cleaned, bandages removed, and dressed in a fresh black button-down shirt, she felt impossibly better. So her shirt was a

guy's, entirely too big for her - it was a gorgeous guy's shirt, so it made it all better.

Her smile softened at the thought of whose shirt she wore. Trunks. Her violet-

haired, muscled hero who'd swept out of nowhere to rescue her from a flaming bus. He

was her angel.

And now her angel was taking her to meet his family. Now this should be

interesting. Frankly, Trunks Briefs was an odd enough name, but his father's name was

Vegeta, his mother's name was Bulma, and his sister's name was Bra. If this wasn't the

oddest named family in the world, she honestly didn't want to hear who beat them out. It

was just nuts.

Shrugging, Megs turned away from her reflection, and stepped out of the

bathroom. Immediately a sleek black cat twined around her ankles, and Megs bent to

scoop it up. "Hey, Veggie, where's your master?"

"Right here," smiling Trunks came around the corner, dressed once again in

simple slacks and a black tanktop, long hair loose. "All ready to go?"

"Yeah." Megs grinned, a little self-consciously. "How're we getting there?"

"Well, unless you want to take the bus again," Trunks had to smile at her shudder,

"our transport's right over at the window."

Megs followed the man to the window, looking puzzled as he threw the frame

open. "Um, Trunks, there's nothing out there." Not precisely nothing, but more like

other buildings, skyscrapers reaching like aching fingers for the sky. Far, far below lay

the streets, cars and people moving like busy and desperate ants. No one down there

looked up at the red-head leaning out the window, nor where there any above them.

There was no fire escape, and no forms of transport as far as Megs could see. "Trunks,

you're playing with my head, aren't you? There's no way we could be leaving this

way."

His smile had grown almost mischievous. "If you say so." Then, to Meg's

complete shock, he bent, placed his arm behind her knees, and straightened - lifting the

startled girl off the ground. 

"Hey!" Megs threw her arms around his neck, startled at the sudden lack of

ground beneath her feet. "Much as I love you playing the whole heroic 'rescue the damsel

in distress' routine," she looked warily out the window at the ground below, "You're not

going to....y'know, jump, are you? Cause that would be a mite dangerous, Trunks, and I

don't think it'd be all that healthy."

Trunks was practically beaming. "Why jump when you can fly?"

And before Megs could protest, Trunks threw himself - and Megs - out the

window. 

For a moment, they hung in the air, in freefall, hair flying around their faces, wind

whipping at their clothes, tugging at her arms wrapped desperately tightly around Trunks'

neck. The scream - and her breath - caught in her throat, and as she felt the ground

scream towards them, she buried her face in his chest. She didn't want to see her death. 

At the last possible moment, just before they would've hit the pavement below, it

was as though Trunks put on a sudden burst of speed, and they rose back into the air, a

graceful arc into safety and the suddenly bright skies. 

Megs' eyes opened slowly when she realized she wasn't dead. She was, indeed,

quite alive, and incredibly impressed to discover that they were rising, the wind whipping

around them as they glided effortlessly through the clouds. 

"We're...we're not dead!" Megs gasped, understandably delighted. 

Trunks laughed. "No, I should say not. Have you never flown before, little

butterfly?"

Megs flushed. "Well...no. Honestly, no. I'm...I'm very impressed, though."

His blue eyes danced with mirth. "Thank you."

Slowly loosening her grip on his neck, Megs relaxed a little, settling into his arms

to wait the trip out. They traveled quickly this way, and within moments, Trunks slowed,

descending towards a large, white building. "Is this where your parents live?" Megs

asked, reading the words on the side of the building. "Capsule Corp?"

Trunks nodded once, and landed lightly on the sidewalk outside the building.

Setting Megs gently on her feet, he motioned to the door. "Shall we?"

Megs felt suddenly nervous. "Um...yeah. I guess so."

As Trunks lifted his hand to open the door, it was suddenly swung open by a

young girl with bluish-purple hair. She took one look at Megs and Trunks, then turned

around and yelled, "Mom! Dad! Good news! Trunks finally got a girlfriend!"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. 4

Y'know, I'm really tired of writing disclaimers....

I don't own it. No money. No sue. 

  
  


Butterfly

  
  


Megs' jaw dropped. "What the-?!" she gasped, not quite sure she'd heard what

she just thought she'd heard.

"Bra," Trunks growled in good-natured anger. "I don't talk about you like

that."

The girl shrugged, feigning innocence with a mischievous grin on her impish

face. "That's because there's never been any worry about me, Torankuso-San. I've had

enough boyfriends that no one's ever had to worry about if I was into shounen-ai."

Trunks just laughed, and putting his arm around Megs' shoulder, pulled her into

the hall, grinning. 

Megs eyes were very wide. She couldn't quite believe this. This had to be

Trunks' little sister, Bra, although to be honest, she was pretty sure the girl was older than

she was. And she was pretty sure Bra'd just accused Trunks of being into yaoi or

something, which made the hairs on the back of Megs' neck stand on end. She certainly

hoped not. It was bad enough all the bishounen pretty boys separated themselves from

women, don't let the buff-est God's gift to women do so too!

"Where's mom and dad?" Trunks asked casually, squeezing Megs' shoulder

reassuringly. Maybe he knew what she was thinking about. "I really need to talk to them."

Bra jerked her thumb over her shoulder, and began leading them down the hall.

"In the living room. Ignoring each other, as usual."

Trunks sighed, shaking his head a little. "As usual."

Bra shot Megs a curious look. "Soo...who's the girl?"

Megs swallowed. "Megs," she said softly. 

"I rescued her out of a flaming and near-to-exploding bus," Trunks added. "She

needed a bit of help, so I grabbed her."

"And haven't let go, huh?" Bra grinned. "A little different than your normal fare of

aliens and renegade androids, eh, Trunks?"

Megs' eyebrows shot skywards, so they were lost among her red bangs. "'Aliens

and renegade androids'?" She gave them both a bemused expression. "Sounds like a

whole lot of fun."

"Yeah, barrel of laughs," Trunks said grimly as they entered the living room.

Two people sat on the couch, both with their arms crossed and glares set firmly

on their faces as they stared down the television. The woman had chin-length pale blue

hair tied up into a bun, and wore a loose pale pink jumpsuit. The man was quite a bit

shorter than her, though his large and spiky black hair seemed to more than make up for

that. Trunks had been the most muscular person Megs had ever seen, but he looked like a

wimp next to this man. When Trunks coughed, both turned to look at him, mixed

expressions on their faces. 

The woman reacted first. "Trunks? Who's this?"

"Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet Megs. Megs, this is my mom, Bulma, and my

father, Vegeta."

Vegeta scowled. "Prince Vegeta, of the Saiyans, from the Planet Vegeta."

Megs smiled slightly. "Pleased to meet you."

Bulma rose, and moved to shake Megs' hand. "Such a nice young lady. Nice to see

Trunks' finally showing an interest in girls."

Vegeta didn't rise. "Got any Saiyan blood, woman?"

Megs blinked. "I...I don't really know."

"You don't know?!" Vegeta blinked. "Stupid Earth women," he grumbled.

"Don't even know where they're from."

"Well, if it's any consolation," Megs crossed her arms, anger radiating from her,

"my father also had that crazy black hair and he was also usually in a bad mood. If that

means that he was one of these wonderful Saiyans, then I would suppose I do." She stalked

forward, standing directly in front of the seated man, whose eyes had gotten very wide at

the idea of a girl confronting him like that. "If he's not, however, and I turn out to be

purely 'stupid Earth woman', then what does it flaming matter to you?!" By this point,

she was leaning forward, her face a mere foot from his. Her eyes were narrowed, and his

had begun to shine with a bit of admiration.

Turning to his son, Vegeta nodded once. "Good job, Trunks. Not a bad woman."

Glancing back at the now slightly confused Megs (hadn't she just practically yelled at

him?!) he actually smirked, which is pretty close to a smile. "Well, you can't be an Earth

woman. You've got a backbone. I'd say you're Saiyan."

Megs jumped back as he stood. Trunks watched him warily, and Megs swallowed

as the prince of the Saiyans stalked past her. "Hurry up, boy."

Trunks scrambled after him, the three women following a few steps behind.

"Where are we going?"

Vegeta smirked again. "I say we try your girlfriend's heritage out in the gravity

chamber."


End file.
